


Jerusalem

by thalassic



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalassic/pseuds/thalassic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altair, always so ready to jump in faith without looking where his feet hit the ground, Altair so entrenched in the creed that he forgot what it meant. Altair, not the Eagle of Masyaf but the Housecat of Jerusalem, a content purr threatening to rumble out of his throat as he follows Malik up over the fountain and onto the rooftop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jerusalem

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic for the fandom hello i beat the game a few days ago this is my ship
> 
> tumblr is thalassicpark.tumblr.com

Sun beats down on the cracked rooftops of Jerusalem, and everything is quiet save for the occasional cry of an eagle overhead. For Malik this means many things, but worry is not one of them. It means the strange cold that settled down among the wooden bones of the city has lifted, and with it the spirits of its people, pulling them out in waves to occupy the market once more. It means the templars and guards and unsavory denizens of Jerusalem's darkest corners will swarm to make up for lost time.

And it means he can expect a visitor soon, though he denies with some tiny lost hope that he wants it to be a certain visitor, a certain assassin, a certain white hood picked out among the crowds. 

The water that gathered in puddles among the roofed garden dissipates with stark haste, leaving not even a damp marker behind to say where it once was. Malik watches this with some interest, captivated as he watches the water shrink and the ground swallow back up to replace it (though he knows that's not how it works, would scold himself for daydreaming if he roused himself enough to realize that's what it was, and now he rambles and that's a problem too). 

It comes as no surprise when he hears the soft thump of a landing, the muffled footsteps of someone trained to be silent when he wants his presence unannounced, but for Malik he seems to always want to announce it, burst through the doors with eagles flying in behind him and doves carrying sprigs of olives in their mouths, fill the room with a flurry of activity as lights shine down from the heavens above to swallow his glory.

Instead he enters like a normal person, and it always seems strange for Malik to see this. There is not even a single bird, though a cat wanders in a few moments later and then lazily makes its way back out, having expected a palace and finding only a bureau. 

Altair looks like the cat with how disgruntled he is to see Malik. Malik waits patiently as the Eagle of Masyaf goes through the arduous task of repentence he must go through every time his eyes set on the Dai. First Malik knows he will look at the sleeve pinned to his robes, will remember how it was lost, imagine the stump left behind under the cloth. Then he will look towards Malik's face and think how similar Kadar looked, how old he might be now had he lived. Then he will swallow, and stride forward with purpose, and place a bloodied feather on the counter.

"I did not hear the bells. I must admit I am surprised, Altair. I thought surely you would announce your success to half the city before you finished withdrawing the blade." He takes the feather anyways. A job well done is a job best left unsaid when it comes to Altair. Though the assassin has changed much, there is always that lingering threat of ego that looms over both their heads.

Altair pulls his hood down (an act that still shocks Malik, for the longest thing he thought Altair had no real face, and it's strange to see hair and eyes and eyebrows drawn together in consternation) and looks dour. It does not last long, his final attempts at remaining a serious assassin melt as he surges forward and leans against the counter, hands gripping it and eyes bright.

"You should praise me more. I did well," he presses. Malik shakes his head and closes his book, speaking calmly,

"Why should I praise a job done as asked? You were ordered to kill him and you did. A dog is not praised for barking." 

Altair reaches forward and grabs Malik's chin, and insists again, "I deserve reward." Malik takes his wrist lightly and pulls it away in admonishment. 

"Reward is given, not taken, and never to those who claim to deserve it. Return to Masayaf and see if Al Mualim might praise you there. I suppose you could beg for scraps at his table like the dog you are-" Malik is cut off, because Altair claims his prize anyways, brushing his dry lips against the smaller man's with confidence and grace.

Everything Altair does is graceful, except one time Malik saw him fall off a building and land in a haystack backwards, and despite Altair's insistence that it was as planned, Malik knew better and he knew when to recognize an embarrassed cat caught off balance when he saw one. This kiss is no different, though Malik bites back a bit in spite, drawing a small knick of blood that Altair allows, considers his punishment for theft.

He smiles, and Malik scowls. "You'll be the death of me and yourself too, carrying on like this. It's hot, Altair, have you no consideration for the comfort of others?" Altair shakes his head easily, and Malik laughs despite himself because of course that should be the Eagle's answer. 

"I have consideration for you," Altair says, and THAT surprises him. He looks at the man for a long moment, and then sighs, rolling up a map he had been working on and moving from behind the counter. "I suppose there's no avoiding it. Come." 

Altair follows like he was meant to, like there was no place other than behind Malik that he would rather be, eyes constnatly cast about and shoulders tense as if to strike should Malik desire, should he need protection. Altair, always so ready to jump in faith without looking where his feet hit the ground, Altair so entrenched in the creed that he forgot what it meant. Altair, not the Eagle of Masyaf but the Housecat of Jerusalem, a content purr threatening to rumble out of his throat as he follows Malik up over the fountain and onto the rooftop.

At first Altair was careful to watch Malik scale, to catch him if need be, but after the tenth time of Malik's annoyed insistence that Altair relax, he learned to let the one-armed assassin do what he still knew. Malik's fingers curled around every purchase surely, and his feet propelled him upward. Unlike a certain someone, Malik never falls, accidental or not. He makes no movement unless he is sure of how it will turn out. 

Now when he reaches the top, Altair is right behind him and even moving past to race him. They reach the nearest rooftop garden and climb in wordlessly, settling among soft straw as cloth brushes past their bodies, a breeze blowing in soothing and light.

"Don't you want to hear of my mission?" Altair asks, and pulls Malik closer, arms wrapping warm around him in protection that was once unwanted, but now merely tolerated. 

"No," is the answer, soft and pressed into Altair's chest. Malik's eyes grow a little heavier, though part of him whispers vigilance, stay aware, Jerusalem is not safe no matter how much Altair's arms convince you otherwise. He allows himself this lapse in judgment, allows himself this false security, because he knows Altair will keep his faith and deliver him from harm surer than any god he could pray to on this earth or above. 

The blasphemy too is comfortable in his arms.

"But I did so well," Altair says. Malik responds with silence, and so Altair is forced to meet it with his own. 

They stay there in each other's arms for far longer than Malik would allow, were it not for the lull of happiness that keeps him complacent. When finally he rouses enough to blink and take his first deep breath, the sun has set and darkness washes over them. Altair sleeps peacefully, his shoulders relaxed and muscles slack in ways Malik has only been able to trace a handful of times, and does so now with quiet reverence. 

After another few minutes he pulls away and Altair wakes instantly, alert and ready. "We should return. I have work to do. I cannot put the Brotherhood on hold every time you come crawling back from a mission." But the tone is gentle and the words without bite, and Altair responds by pulling him down into another kiss.

"I have to go-" 

A kiss, a nip of his lips.

"I must-" Altair runs a hand through his hair and rumbles in contentment.

"Altair-!" 

He doesn't make it down for another two hours, but he finds himself accepting this too. Everything is permitted, after all.


End file.
